Page 36 of Love Me Gently

“Have you been here before?”

I peered up at my escort, friend, and model, Matteo Laurent, and smiled. “I come to the Met as often as possible, but not like this.”

A gala at the Met.Notthe Met Gala, but this was as almost as prestigious. Where only the most famous were invited, Steven’s entire agency had been so this year, and I was still floating on cloud nine. His requirements of me weren’t getting me down this year. Mostly because the more money I brought in and the more popular I became, the less Steven bothered me. I would have figured it was because he was worried I’d finally say something and report him, but the truth was, it’d been three years since I started working for him. I was now twenty-one, and over the years, there’d been dozens of new models dropping to their knees for his approval.

The modeling industry was more painful and difficult than anything I could imagine. I wasn’t sure there was a woman I’d met yet who came through unscathed. Whether it was with a cocaine and or nicotine habit along with a diet of bone broth to say thin, or women who were in my position and forced to do the things I’d chosen, we were all injured.

Frankly, the men didn’t have it that much easier, from what I knew.

“This is a beautiful sight,” Matteo said, in his faint French accent. Born in Montreal, his parents were from France. He’d been in the States working for a couple of years and I’d had the good fortune to meet him at Fashion Week last year. We were now both models with Calvin Klein and not only did we run into each other frequently, but because he was gay, Stephen didn’t mind if we spent time together.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t find a prettier date,” I teased.

Matteo chuckled and covered his free hand with mine that was wrapped around his other arm. “For a female, you are not too shabby.” He patted my hand in sympathy like one would pet a pouting dog.

“You’re rotten,” I laughed as we were escorted up the stairs. Lights flashed and photographers asked for our names, both of which Matteo and I ignored.

We were known in the modeling world, and maybe by generations that still clung to magazines, but we weren’t who the press was waiting for. We were small fries, and I was thankful Matteo was as humble about our successes as I remained.

All of this could be yanked out beneath my feet tomorrow and I’d lose everything.

Stephen threatened it enough, but without the threats I already knew it was true. As an agent, he’d grown in popularity even more so than he’d been when I first met him.

Because of that, I’d never fought our contract or left for another agency. If I ticked him off, he had the power to ruin me.

I had no doubt he’d do it.

We reached the top of the stairs and a whole new world of glittery lights and fashion made my jaw drop in disbelief. “Wow,” I exhaled on a deep breath.

Matteo’s back straightened. “This is… this is truly unbelievable. What do we do?”

I spied a waiter, with a silver tray in one hand filled with bubbly champagne flutes. “Drink,” I replied. “We drink.”

I slipped my arm out of his hold and followed the waiter carrying pink champagne, Matteo’s deep laughter following my lead.

We drank. We snacked on the occasional appetizer that wouldn’t ruin our diets or make my already skintight, silver dress any tighter. I’d had to soak in eight pounds of Epsom salt to squeeze into the thing and I was already a size zero these days.

Eventually, we wandered through the crowd, where dinner would be served, and we scanned the tables to find Cormack’s agency and where we’d be seated. Matteo found his name, but as we searched the nearby tables, my golden nameplate wasn’t anywhere to be found.

Dread crept its way into my stomach, making me set down my champagne.

“Where do you think I’m sitting?”

Matteo shook his head. “I don’t know. This must be a mistake.”

Steven wouldn’t make mistakes. He would have had someone here as soon as we could enter, ensuring everything for him was perfect. His agency hadn’t just been invited, it was being recognized for some humanitarian effort. I’d stopped listening at the word humanitarian because Steven was most definitelynotthat in any way, shape, or form.

Was he not allowing me to sit and eat?

“Ah. There you are.”

I froze at his voice, the slick tone of it as if he was truly joyful to see me. Turning, Steven was several steps away, weaving in and out of chairs covered with white, shimmering seat covers.

“Good evening, Steven.” I dipped my chin out of politeness.

He didn’t return the greeting. At least, not to me. To Matteo, he turned and said, “Leave us for a few minutes.”

Matteo’s glance slid to mine. His gaze was a heavy weight at my temple, but I didn’t dare turn my head or my attention off Steven who was peering at me with much the same intensity wafting off Matteo.

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